Chapter 1: Savior
Chapter Text
“SOAP! ROYCE IS DOWN!” Shouts Ghost.
“Goddamnit, Price, we need to get the boys out of here! The mission is FUBAR; call for an extraction.” Soap radios, barely audible over the gunfire coming from enemy forces.
“What the hell do you think I was just doing,” questions Price, “Nikolai can’t get close enough for evac!”
“We’re fucked” Whines Meat, in character as usual.
“Alright, everyone, group up in the clocktower. We’re going to have to hold these bastards off as long as possible.” Commands Soap. Everyone begins making their way to the building. Ghost comes through the door first, Royce slung over his shoulder. Next follows Meat, nursing an injured knee and propping up a considerably worse Chemo. Finally, the rest of the team arrives, damaged, vastly worse for wear, and not in any shape to fight back.
Just as Soap is about to make some sappy speech about how ‘serving with these men was an honor’ or shit like that, a sudden thump on the roof grabs everyone’s attention. The sound of boots pounding on the rooftop makes everyone in the room tense up and ready their weapons for their last hoo-rah.
As the footsteps approach the room, the task force members can hear a British voice directing a breaking of the room. The door is quickly breached, and a voice emerges from the newly disturbed dust.
“Price, I SWEAR if you shoot my boys or me, I’ll kill you myself!” snapped the British voice.
Recognizing the voice, Soap, Price, Archer, and Gaz look at one another. However, the rest of the 141, bewildered by the actions of their superiors, don’t relax.
“Aye, lads, stand down! Don’t shoot these guys there here to get us out.” Soap quickly spits out, still in mild shock from the man’s outburst.
A man dressed in all-black military garb walks across the threshold of the room, quickly observing the task force members already in the room. Three patches are sewn into the shoulder of the man’s wardrobe, the words “SPECIAL FORCES,” “RANGERS,” and “AIRBORNE” jump out at the men.
“Line your injured up over here,” orders the new man.
No one moves a muscle.
“Price, I knew your men weren’t the most obedient, but damn.” Jokes out the man.
“Way to make me look like shite fellas. Prop up Royce, Meat, and Chemo over there. Anyone else too injured to shoot get over there as well.” Price grumbles, gesturing to the most fortified area of the building. The three mentioned, as well as Ozone and Scarecrow sit down. Three members of the new squad then follow their actions.
“Alright, Archer, I want you to take my snipers, Kilo and Foxtrot,” The British man gestures to two men equipped with M14 EBR’s, “and get sights as high as you can. I want good visuals.”
“Yes, sir!” Acknowledges 141’s sniper,” Sir, permission to take my spotter with me?” Archer puts an arm around Toad’s shoulder.
“Permission granted; get moving.” Nods the man.
“Gaz, you and your other sergeant, try to contact your evac and get an ETA for me. Let my uninjured sergeant know if he can’t touch down; we can try our pilot.”
The task forces sergeants immediately spring up, ready for action. “Yes, Sir understood Sir!... Uhm… your sergeants are…?” Questions Gaz.
“Oh, that’d be me; our other is down right now,” voices a man, the name Whiskey graces his uniform.
“Alright, we’ll be back shortly, sir.” Replies Gaz, already heading out into the hallway to get a better connection.
“Okay, everyone left, head to some windows and start taking down these sons of bitches. Price, I want Soap, your medical officer, and your tactical man to help me patch these guys up.”
“Ah, there’s a bit of a problem there; one of the men down is our medical, another is our tactics.” Chuckles Price, “I can give you my Rigger and my Lieutenant, though.”
A look of annoyance crosses the man’s face. “They have medical training?” He questions.
“No more than the rest of us, but it’s all we have to work with.” Reasons Soap.
“Aye, alright,” The man turns to address his group,” Quebec, Delta, I want you to stick around and help me clean these guys up as well. The rest of you get out there and keep us covered.” He then turns to Price. “I want my guys in charge of the calls out there, got it?”
Price’s eyebrow raises but concedes instantly. “Of course, who’s your second-highest-ranking?”
“Gambit,” The man barks out,” Get out there and don’t get anyone killed, understand?”
A blonde man, presumably Gambit, steps up next to the man. “Of course, sir, stay safe, captain.”
“You too,” voices the man, turning towards the injured. Three men from the new squad, Soap, and Rook follow Gambit outside to buy some time.
“Alright, let’s get to work saving your asses, again Soap.”
“Hardy-har Achilles, let’s just hope we live long enough for this not to be the last time.” Soap jests, worried.
Chapter Text
The newly named man, Achilles, steps toward the injured man against the wall. Starting with Meat, Achilles assesses the wound.
“Just a minor GSW, November, get the bleeding under control and dressed.”
“Yes, sir!” answers a middle-eastern man, reaching for a medical kit. He carefully goes towards Meat. Meat traps the man in a headlock before November can start putting pressure on the wound. A knife pressed against his throat, already drawing blood.
Soap is about to tell Meat to stand down, but before he can do so, the sound of a round being chambered interrupts him.
“Let him fucking go,” demands Quebec, tone ice cold. Gun trained on Meat’s head.
“Get your gun trained off my man, and we can talk,” Ghost begins, voice low and demanding. Then, reaching for a gun of his own, eventually resting his sights on Quebec’s skull.
Achilles then reacts, mirroring Quebec’s actions and training his gun on Ghost rather than Meat.
“If you don’t get your motherfucking pistol off my man’s head, you die today,” Achilles’ tone losing every ounce of playfulness that it had while previously joking with Soap.
“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill him right now,” Ghost says.
“We’re trying to save your men’s goddamn lives, you bastard. Besides, Soap is on my side, AND I outrank you. So kill, my men and I will court marshal your ass so quick no one will remember you were in the 141.” He spits out, Achilles fed up with Ghost’s uncooperative nature.
“Alright, lads, Ghost, get you goddamn gun off Quebec, Meat let that man go, NOW.” Soap demands.
A look of betrayal graces Ghost’s face briefly before lowering his gun. He scoffs and sends a sneer towards Achilles.
“John, we went out of our way to come here and save your arses. I sure as hell hope the rest of your men aren’t like this because if they pull this same shit with Gambit, they’re probably already dead.” Achilles deadpans, his voice taking a threatening tone. “I’m sorting out my injured men first; if you need more advanced care, let me know.”
Achilles then turns to take care of November’s bleeding neck and his other three men who had sat down earlier. Luckily, none of them has sustained life-threatening injuries, so Achilles and Delta began dressing wounds and getting the men up and moving.
Soap and Ghost were doing their best to get their men taken care of, but as Soap had said earlier, neither of them had medical training.
Achilles observes silently, a smug look dancing around his green eyes. Soap exhales and turns to Achilles, silently begging the man not to make him ask. But Achilles, after Soap’s men’s little show minutes ago, makes him ask.
“Achilles, we can’t seem to be able to help Royce… Do you mind?” Soap quietly asks, ignoring Ghost’s heated glances.
“Oh, now you want my help. How cute.” Achilles teases, already making his way closer to Royce.
“Let me see— Royce, is it? Yeah looks like a dislocated shoulder… Ever had one love?” Achilles says, his voice taking on a caring tone towards the end of the sentence.
Royce is so taken aback by the pet name that Achilles can relocate the shoulder before Royce can react.
Achilles’ face takes on a sympathetic look as he hears Royce release a guttural scream from the pain.
“Sorry, Royce, I’ve found that if you don’t know it’s coming, it hurts less. I want to get a sling on you.” Quebec silently hands him a cloth to tie up Royce’s shoulder.
As he is tying up the arm, Achilles turns to Soap.
“As soon as you guys get back to base, I recommend Royce here gets a CT or X-ray. At the very least, he has bruised ribs; my bet is broken. Your medical officer should keep a close eye on him” Achilles lets Soap know.
Before Achilles has a chance to identify which of the injured men is 141’s Medical Officer, a transmission graces everyone radio:
“Attention 141 and Army Rangers, this is General Shephard. Evac is on the way, ETA 2 minutes, group-up on Achilles in the clock tower. And Achilles, don’t get too excited to be rid of MacTavish. You’re to be transferred to the 141 effective immediately. We will talk more about this when you’re on board. Shepard out.”
Notes:
WOOOOOOOOOO Okay now we get to go somewhere funnnnnnnn. I'm new to writing so feel free to leave constructive crit in the comments, I appreciate it!
ThatIllegalCamaro on Chapter 2 Thu 13 Mar 2025 09:51AM UTC
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